


you got me going insane

by newrules



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Homesickness, Light Angst, M/M, POV Alternating, Supportive Teammates, tango is french because why not
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-09
Updated: 2017-02-24
Packaged: 2018-09-15 23:48:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9264479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/newrules/pseuds/newrules
Summary: kent's nightly routine of partying takes an unexpected - and upsetting - turn one night in providence.tango, meanwhile, isn't much of a party person. he's a great listener, though.





	1. Last Tango in Providence

**Author's Note:**

> title from britney spears' _break the ice_
> 
> rarepair hell from day one, folks.
> 
> also this was before we found out tango is a jersey boy so i decided to make him french. just roll with it.

_“It’s Britney, bitch!”_

Kent Parson was in his element as he mixed and mingled throughout the packed apartment, drink in hand. He was still riding the high from scoring the game-winning goal against the Falconers, naturally he had had to find a poppin’ house party to end the night. Swoops had heard about one in the luxury apartments that overlooked the little river downtown. Kent didn’t know whose party it was, but they were playing Britney and Kent was having a great time, so he didn’t care.

“Kent Parson?” Kent turned around to discover a short Vietnamese girl that he recognized from… oh. _That_ party. A memory that, two years later, he still hadn’t managed to shake.

“Larissa, right? Here to whoop my ass at flip cup again?”

“You wish, Parson. I’m on my way out, actually, but good to see ya.” And then she disappeared into the crowd, with a taller guy on her arm who Kent recognized as one of Zimms’ old college teammates. He sighed. He shouldn’t have expected to come to Providence and _not_ relive at least a few unfortunate memories.

Minutes later, Kent had shaken the mood and was back in party mode. He found Swoops again and they were chatting up some decently attractive people when a short blond boy walked up to him, scowling. Kent vaguely recognized him from somewhere.

“Get out.”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me. You’re not welcome here.”

“Who are you? Whose apartment even is this?”

The boy scowled and walked away. Kent stood there, momentarily confused, and a few seconds later, Jack Zimmermann was staring him down. Kent’s heart somehow leapt and sank at the same time.

“It’s mine. And I’d prefer if you left.”

 

* * *

 

The chilly wind coming up off the Woonasquatucket stung Tango’s face and he wrapped his scarf around his mouth and nose, letting the fabric trap his hot breaths. It’s not that he hated parties, it was just a lot of noise and stimulation and he was a bit burnt out from it all. The first time the Samwell team had all gone down to Providence for a Falcs game had been exciting – getting to meet Jack Zimmermann (!) and some of the other Falcs was cool, even though Tango didn’t really follow the NHL closely enough to know most of them (he loved playing hockey, sure, but watching other people play it just wasn’t his thing). But this was a bit too overwhelming for him. So he had slipped quietly outside, texted Whiskey asking him to please let him know when they were leaving, and hopped on the elevator. Now he was descending the stairs from Exchange Street down to the riverwalk, breathing slow and steady and taking in the chilly Providence waterfront.

As he was staring into the dark surface of the river, he felt someone brush past him briskly, nearly sending him tumbling forward into the chilly water.

“Hey!” Tango snapped, “do you realize you almost just knocked me into the river?”

The offender, a shorter blond guy, turned around to face Tango. Tango had a feeling that he recognized this guy from somewhere, but he wasn’t sure where. He sure was attractive, though. It had been just weeks since Tango realized he was gay, and he was basking in how good – how _free_ – it felt to admit it to himself when he found guys hot.

The dude shrugged, “I was trying to get my headphones in. Didn’t notice ya.”

Now that he had a clear view of this stranger's face, Tango realized the subtle but unmistakable look of sadness he wore.

“Are… are you alright?” he asked gingerly, as though the stranger might shove him in the river on purpose this time.

“Not exactly,” the stranger admitted with a sigh.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” Tango offered. He wasn’t sure what made him think he could or should be an emotional support for this stranger – maybe, he thought, he just wanted an excuse to keep looking at this very attractive dude, but he felt like there was something more compelling him.

The stranger hesitated and stared at him, considering.

“You know what? Yeah.”

 

* * *

 

The boy had stared into Kent’s eyes with a puzzling look, and Kent had worried for a second he was going to be recognized and roped into selfies or an autograph. But then he had asked if Kent was alright. Kent had felt a bit of relief flow through him, and not just because he hadn’t been recognized. For a second, he forgot about the harsh cold, about missing Jack Zimmermann, about how upset he was. Something about this stranger’s kind eyes, which seemed to communicate genuine concern, took him out of his anger and frustration and heartbreak. And so he gave in.

They walked together along the river and found somewhere to sit in Waterplace Park, overlooking the part of the river with all the fire pits for Waterfire. Kent gave the vaguest rundown possible.

“When I was younger I had someone who was really important to me. And then something happened that screwed everything up. And I just want back what we used to have, but he doesn’t seem to. And I just saw him again; I didn’t even know I was going to run into him at that party, but he didn’t want to see me. Again. So yeah. Not doing great. I barely even had anything to drink before I got kicked out of the party so I’m still sober, too, fuck.”

The boy watched his face as he spoke, intently listening.

“I’m sorry,” he replied calmly. “Do you know what you’re going to do now?”

“No,” Kent admitted. “I was just gonna hang out at that party, get decently drunk, have some fun, and go back to my hotel. But now it’s 10 pm and I’m out here venting to a random stranger that I almost knocked into the river.” Kent let out a tiny chuckle, his breath steaming visibly in the chilly air. "Really sorry about that, by the way. I don't think I ever actually apologized earlier."

The boy was silent for a moment – taking in the pitiful person sitting before him, Kent figured.

“I’m Tango,” the boy finally responded. It wasn’t pity in his voice.

“Tango? That isn’t your real name, is it?”

“It’s a hockey nickname. My real name’s Tony, but I like Tango a lot so I go by that most of the time.” He was silent a second, then added “what’s your name?”

 _Shit._ There was no way a hockey player – college, by the look of it – wouldn’t know who Kent was, especially if he told him his name. But Tango had just asked, so Kent was trapped. He braced himself for a starstruck scream and selfie-taking.

“I’m Kent.” He waited for realization to dawn on Tango’s face, but the moment never came. Then, inexplicably, he added “You can call me Kenny if you want.”

 _What the fuck did I say that for?_ Nobody but Jack had ever called him Kenny, but something about this kid made him feel so… comfortable. Tango’s face was kind, his eyes displaying a childlike curiosity, but somehow he could also read Kent like a book. And he was so… considerate. He just listened, intently, and didn’t press him for details or try to give him some misguided piece of advice like most people would. He was kind and reassuring and _cute_ too, dang it. Kent was becoming lost in his thoughts when Tango’s phone buzzed.

“Oh. My ride is leaving,” Tango said, a hint of disappointment in his voice. “I’ve gotta go. Nice to meet you, Kenny.”

Kent could feel the frustration and anger from before come flooding back as he watched Tango walk away.

“Wait!” he called after him. “Stay a while. I’ll drive you home.”

Tango’s eyes lit up at the words and the negative emotions and tension once again drained out of Kent as a smile returned to Tango’s face.

 

* * *

 

Tango was so exhausted he almost passed out as soon as he sat down in Kent's car. He and Kent had walked around the streets of Providence for hours, just talking. They talked about what music they liked, how pretty Providence was, and stuff that had been in the news. As they had gone back and forth, Tango had seen how Kent eased up and seemed a lot happier. By the time they finally decided to call it a night, Tango must have been positively beaming. Here he had turned this stranger's night around. He'd done a good thing for someone! It felt so nice.

What the two hadn't talked about, Tango realized as he felt the irresistible pull of sleep take hold of him, was anything about each other. He furrowed his brow and he contemplated asking Kent something about himself but he reconsidered. He was too tired, plus Kent seemed less than willing to divulge too many details about himself. Tango let his eyelids drop as the soft, ballad-y notes of Britney Spears’ “Out from Under” emanating from Kent’s car speakers lulled him to sleep in the passenger seat. He remembered Kent mentioning how much he loved Britney. Tango nearly made it to dreamland before Kent’s voice cut through the quiet.

“Didn’t you say you were exit 11? We just passed exit 29 and then exit 30. These exit numbers are going up, not down.” Kent pointed out.

Tango looked out the windows and observed that they were still in Pawtucket, barely. It was late and the traffic that usually characterized 95 had all but disappeared.

“Not exit 11 in Rhode Island, exit 11 in Massachusetts,” he explained.

“Shit, man, you didn’t tell me you lived so far,” Kent grumbled.

“You didn’t ask,” Tango pointed out. “It’s closer to Boston than Providence, really. But, look, we’re in Mass now. It’s only like 20 minutes from here.”

“Fine. I brought this on myself, I guess.” Kent laughed. “You’re lucky you’re cute,” he mumbled, almost too quiet for Tango to hear. Suddenly Tango was overwhelmed with feelings he couldn’t quite interpret. He had figured Kent wasn’t straight when Kent had referred to the "special person" from his past as “he.” But Tango hadn’t even considered the possibility that Kent might find _him_ attractive. Part of him was desperate to react, but mostly he was too confused and slightly panicked by this new development. He pretended not to have heard. For the rest of the ride back he couldn’t fall asleep; his mind was racing faster than Bitty skated.

“Alright, where am I going man? Exit 11 is coming up.”

Tango pushed his convoluted thoughts to the side for a moment to give Kent directions to the Haus.

“Follow the signs for Samwell, that’s my university. I live in the hockey team’s house, it’s on Jason Street which is like the third left off the exit.”

Tango looked over and noticed that _look_ on Kent’s face again. The same look he had been wearing when he first ran into Tango on the riverwalk. Tango welled up with concern once more.

“Kent... Kenny? Are you okay?”

Kent didn’t reply, he just kept driving. A few turns later, as they were nearing the Haus, Tango spoke up again.

“Seriously. What’s wrong? You’ve got that sad look on your face again.”

“It’s nothing. Don’t worry about it.” Kent’s face softened, but it seemed forced. Tango was worried, but he didn’t want to press Kent to tell him anything he didn’t want to.

When Kent parked in front of the Haus, Tango realized he didn’t know if he’d ever see Kent again. But Kent spoke up before he could ask anything. “Thanks again. For everything. You really made my night a lot better than it could have been. I wanna return the favor, so… if you ever just need someone to listen, give me a call. I don’t live around here, but I’d be happy to talk to you again.” Kent slipped a folded up piece of paper into his hands. "Do me a favor and don't show that to anyone."

“Oh. Okay. Goodnight, then, I guess. And thanks for the ride.” Tango fumbled to find better words but gave up. He was too exhausted and his mind was still spinning trying to make sense of everything that had happened. And then he was getting out, closing the door to the car, and stumbling back up the Haus steps, watching the brake lights of Kent’s car - evidently a rental - disappear around the corner.

Tonight more than ever Tango was grateful to have gotten Lardo’s dibs rather than Ransom’s or Holster’s – it was nearly 4 in the morning; he didn’t want to worry about waking anyone up, and he _really_ didn’t have the energy to interact with a roommate right now. He didn’t bother to shower, he just quickly brushed his teeth and threw on pajamas before flopping into bed. He lay awake for a while, not really managing to collect his jumbled thoughts. Finally, he unfolded the slip of paper he had been handed. It read simply:

> Kent Parson
> 
> 702-123-7654

_Oh._ Parson. Tango knew now why Kent had seemed slightly familiar. He was the shining star of the Las Vegas Aces, the very same person Tango had just hours ago watched score the game-winning goal against the Falcs.

And Tango was pretty sure he was falling a little bit for him. Which meant he was supremely, royally, completely fucked.


	2. Parson on the Verge of a Nervous Breakdown

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> shorter chapters with only one POV at a time from here on out just cause i felt like it

A month later, and the night was still so fresh in Kent’s mind. Far too sharp was the pain of his brief encounter with Jack. Kent had hoped he would get to see Jack again off the ice, but not like that. If he was ever going to get back into Jack’s life, that was probably a setback. _If_. Kent sighed.

On the upside, there were a lot of pleasant memories from that night that were still equally clear in Kent’s mind. The hockey kid who’d treated him like a real person, who’d spoken so softly and gently with him, made him so comfortable. The boy’s soft face that was simultaneously sexy as hell and yet youthfully adorable, that perfect coexistence of hot and cute that so few faces possessed.

Tango. The name was stuck in his head. Kent knew he was unlikely to ever hear from him again, though. Wistfully, he tried to let go of this… this _stupid_ hang-up. Kent wasn’t even into younger guys, usually. Tango didn’t seem _that_ young, though. He’d said he was a sophomore in college, but there was no way he wasn’t at least, like, 22. He could have done junior league hockey, like Kent had. That would make sense…

Suddenly the default iPhone ringtone sliced through Kent’s consciousness, halting his wandering thoughts. He rolled over in bed and grabbed at his phone on his nightstand. With his other hand he crossed his fingers, hoping for one of two things. Either his screen would say _Zimms_ or it would be an unsaved 781 number…

> _Incoming call from Swoops_

“Fuck,” Kent said out loud before tapping “Accept.”

“This better be important, Swoops, it’s getting late and I’m fuckin’ tired.”

Swoops’ call, as a matter of fact, was important, and soon Kent found himself in his kitchen with his teammate – Swoops’ housemates were having a party and he needed somewhere else to go for the night, so of course Kent was going to accommodate his best buddy. Swoops was fixing himself some dinner in the kitchen while Kent lounged on his couch and watched Kit Purrson play with a stuffed mouse. They were chatting nonchalantly in heavily accented French, an ability they had both picked up while playing in the Q, when Kent saw his silenced phone light up.

> _Incoming call from (781) 9876-543_

Kent didn’t waste a single moment before picking up the call, but Swoops kept talking so he held the phone away from himself and hurriedly shushed Swoops, bulldozing through his sentence in a matter of seconds:

« Ta gueule ! Ce beau garçon me téléphone et j’pense que je le vraiment aime ! »

_[“Shut up! This cute boy is calling me and I think I really like him!”]_

Then he turned back to the phone and calmly said “hello?”

For a moment, there was complete silence on the other end. Kent frowned and Swoops smirked at him. Kent scowled at Swoops and pressed the phone closer to his ear. He worried for a moment that there was no one on the other line at all. He was considering hanging up when he heard Tango’s unmistakable voice, shaky and uncertain. And, to Kent’s dismay, in perfect French.

« Tu… tu _m’aimes_?! »

 _[“You… you_ like _me?!”]_


	3. Desperately Seeking Parson

Tango was in shock. He was still holding the phone up to his ear, trying to convince himself it wasn’t real, but he couldn’t lie to himself. He had definitely heard Kent say to someone, explicitly, in a rough Québec accent, that he _liked_ Tango. Well… liked “him,” but Kent had to have known who was calling. And then when Tango, reeling, had somehow managed to stammer out a response, he had just... hung up. Oh _god_ , what was happening?

Tango braced himself against the bathroom counter and took big, deliberate breaths. It was just then that Chowder came into their shared bathroom. Tango normally would have been comforted by Chowder and his radiant positivity but so much was going on that even Chowder’s sunny self didn’t do much to calm him. Chowder, seeing him in the midst of breaking down, went wide-eyed with worry.

“TANGO WHAT’S WRONG OH MY GOD ARE YOU OK SHOULD I GET THE REST OF THE GUYS DO YOU NEED WATER ARE YOU HAVING AN ANXIETY ATTACK DO YOU NEED AN AMBULANCE OH MY GOD-”

“No Chowder don’t worry, I’m okay,” Tango managed to say finally. With some effort, he was able to push aside the myriad feelings and thoughts that had been overwhelming him and focus only on placating the panicked Chowder. “I just got off a weird phone call and I’m not sure what to think or do but like, I’m okay, I don’t need an ambulance or anything.”

Tango was now standing up straight and his breathing had retreated somewhat to a steadier rate, which seemed to satisfy Chowder, who had become much calmer.

“I’m just gonna go back in my room now, I’m sorry for scaring you,” Tango said, and he retreated to his room and locked the door behind him. Chowder’s intervention had prevented what he feared could have devolved into a full-on panic attack, and Tango made a mental note to thank him later, even if it had just been a happy accident. That is, if Tango was ever able to explain _why_ he had been like that in the first place.

He laid down in bed again and shut his eyes, trying to make everything go away. He was only partially successful – putting aside the conflicting thoughts about Kent only brought back the melancholy feeling that had prompted the phone call in the first place. Tango had struggled with seasonal depression for the last few years, but he’d usually tried to push through it. If he had to employ a few less-than-healthy coping mechanisms here and there, well, so be it, but he didn’t want to make it a big deal. Tonight, he had shut himself in his room, and it had started to become overwhelming, and he’d noticed the slip of paper sticking out from his Computer Science textbook, and he’d remembered what Kent had said to him… _if you ever just need someone to listen, give me a call_. He’d wrestled with the idea for a while before sucking in a shaky breath and dialing the number.

And then… _oh lord._

He stared at his phone, pressing in the digits again. Maybe he’d sort this out, but the sadness was tugging at him again, and he still really wanted someone to talk to. Who wasn’t Chowder or Bitty, because god bless them but they would go immediately into Mother Mode™ and try to give him advice or set him up an appointment at the counseling and psychological center. Which was the last thing he wanted right now.

When Kent didn’t pick up, he cursed into his pillow. Then he left a message.

“Hey, this is, uh, Tango. Um, I know this is probably weird now and it’s probably my fault for not knowing how the fuck to talk about feelings or whatever but um. I remember what you said the last time I saw you and uh. I really needed someone tonight to just vent to who could listen. So if you get this, uh, call me back.” He paused. “Please.”

Tango knew he probably sounded pathetic in the message but he left it anyways. He tossed his phone aside and dragged his comforter over him. It was only, like, 9 pm, but he wanted nothing more than to fall asleep to forget that the whole day had ever happened.

He was almost successful with the former of the two goals when his phone rang.

Bleary-eyed and frustrated he grabbed it and his heart leapt immediately.

> _Incoming call from Kent Parson_

Tango took a big breath and picked up the call. “Hi,” he said softly, and he hoped Kent could tell just how much he was smiling.


	4. The Kents Are All Right

For once, Kent was happy, deliriously happy, to be waking up at 4 in the morning. He always hated roadies with long, early flights, but this time was different. Hockey was the last thing on his mind as he met his bleary-eyed teammates on the tarmac behind the general aviation terminal at McCarran.

“Why so happy, Parser?” His teammates naturally chirped him for his atypical behavior, and today Kent was happy to play along, though he’d never tell them the real reason. Today the Aces were flying to Boston to face off against the Bruins, after which they would be up against the Falconers. Normally, that would mean a pit in Kent’s stomach at the thought of coming face-to-face with Jack Zimmermann. But not today.

 

* * *

 

_Two weeks earlier…_

“Hi.”

“Hi yourself, kid. I, uh… why don’t we forget about what I said before for a second and talk about what else has got you down? God knows I owe you that much.”

“That… sounds good. I’ve just, uh, felt pretty terrible out of nowhere all day. I get kinda depressed in the winter, have you heard of that? And I’m okay most days but today I haven’t been able to escape it, because I shut myself in, which is like, how I try to cope with it but it only makes it worse and I _know_ it makes it worse but I just can’t help doing it and… fuck, I don’t know. It makes me overthink _everything_. It took me so long to realize I was gay and ever since I finally figured everything out I’ve been constantly worried about how to put myself out there and date someone because I’m 22 for Christ’s sake and I still haven’t dated anyone outside of that time in high school when I stupidly quote-unquote “dated” this one girl for two weeks because I still thought I was straight, and Samwell is supposed to be full of gay guys but I just can’t see myself with anyone I know here. And besides all that, I’ve just been so homesick, I haven’t been home to France in a few years and I miss it a lot. I mean it’s so nice here and I see myself staying here, in the US I mean, but I do like to visit France and I haven’t gone in so long and I don’t think I’ll have the money to go back for a long time, and- hey, are you still there?”

“You bet. I’m… I’m sorry you’ve been feeling like that, but uh, maybe go venture out of your room after this call? I know it’s hard but you’ll feel a lot better talking to someone, especially someone you’re close with like your hockey teammates. And I know it’s late, but tomorrow make sure you open your curtains and let lots of light into your room. That always helps my mood when my depression flares up.”

“Your depression?”

“Yeah. Ever since all that – stuff I told you about. So, you’re from France? That explains how you understood what I said.”

“Paris suburbs, originally. I moved around a lot in the Paris area as a kid and then I lived one year each in Aix, Montpellier, and Chamonix. Moved to New York – Brooklyn – at 17 and finished high school there, then I did a stint in the Q in Gatineau before coming to Samwell. Hah, if only I could tell some of my old Q lineys that I was talking to Kent Parson. They’d totally freak out. Admittedly… _I_ freaked out a little bit when I saw that slip of paper and realized.”

“So you did know who I am the whole time, you just didn’t figure out it was me till after? Hah.”

“Yeah. I love playing hockey but I don’t really watch it that much. I know a good amount about NHL stuff, plus I was in the Q. And I was even at your game against the Falcs earlier that night. I just don’t watch interviews or anything so I don’t really know faces. So trust me, if you’d given me your whole name that night I’d have known instantly.”

“Well, I hope my face met your expectations.”

“Was that a chirp or are you flirting?”

“Might have been a little of both…”

“Oh my god, you really are into me, aren’t you?”

“I guess it’d be pointless to deny it. Damn you and your French fluency.”

“Oh come on, I bet it makes me even more attractive, doesn’t it?”

“It’s no Québécois but I’ll take it.”

“Please, Québec accents are terrible. You get a pass cause you’re non-native.”

“Well, anyways. Aces are playing the Bruins in a couple weeks. How about I see you in Boston? I’ll get you tickets to the game, and then… maybe take you on a proper date?”

“That… sounds fantastic. So, um. I’ll see you in two weeks then?”

“I’ll text you the details, and if you can’t get yourself to Boston let me know and I’ll arrange for a cab or something. And don’t forget to leave your room and find someone to talk to!”

“Can… can I tell anyone about this?”

“…Umm… if there’s someone on your team who you _really, really_ trust not to say anything. Then yeah, if you need to. But I mean. _Really_ trust.”

“Got it.”

“Now go on and feel better, you cute little shit.”

“Hah, I’ll try. And Kenny?”

“Yeah Tango?”

“Thanks. For listening.”

“Anytime. I mean that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> these kent/tango movie puns are so fun to come up with lmao
> 
> [related headcanon post on my tumblr](https://kentparson.tumblr.com/post/156646604904/tango-is-actually-super-french) about tango being french (not all of the stuff is relevant/consistent with this fic but this is what i did while i was struggling to come up with this chapter): 
> 
> thanks so much for all the kind comments!


	5. A Parisian in America

Tango arguably shouldn’t have been as nervous as he was, getting ready to board the train up to Boston. (Kent had protested, insisting Tango should let him pay for a car service, but Tango refused. He kind of liked the commuter rail, anyways.) It was crowded, with lots of people decked out in their Bruins gear heading into the city for the game. Tango stuck out in the Aces jersey he had ordered and that had arrived _just_ in time, and knowing the ferocity with which Bostonians cared about their home sports, he had to remind himself over and over how it would be worth it… and to pretend not to speak English if anyone tried to provoke him. Luckily, he kept his eyes down on his phone or out the window, his other arm cradling a pastry box tightly, and he was left alone for the brief ride to Back Bay. One woman on the Orange Line gruffly said “hey kid,” and although it probably was nothing, Tango was racked with nervousness and immediately launched into a spiel, sounding intensely innocent and happy:

« Je parle seulement le français, désolé ! J’espère que tu passes une bonne journée ! »

_[“I only speak French, sorry! I hope you have a good day!”]_

Whether the woman had been going to pick a fight or not, she was sufficiently confused by Tango’s sudden bubbly French-ness that she scurried off to find a seat elsewhere, and Tango felt like the passengers around him softened their glaring at him somewhat. It hardly mattered, because soon Tango was shuffling off the train and out of North Station into TD Garden. It was still early – plenty of fans were already there and milling around, but it wasn’t terribly crowded yet. He pulled up his texts.

> **Bitty:** hey tango are you gonna be at the haus tonight for dinner?

He fired off a response to say that no, he would not, though he neglected to mention the reason. He loved their mothering co-captain dearly, but he also knew how intensely Bitty cared for his boyfriend, and it didn’t take a genius to figure out that Kent and Jack had a complicated history. He knew – although he didn’t really _know_ , but he’d rather not ask Kent to confirm the obvious when it was probably a sore subject for him – that Jack was the person Kent had been upset about on their first meeting.

He scrolled on to his next text.

> **Chowder:** hey tangs – have fun tonight, and be safe. call me or text me if you need anything <3

Tango smiled. Chowder was so good to him, and he honestly trusted Chowder with his life. He’d made a beeline for Chowder’s room after his phone call with Kent and told him everything. By the time he was finished recounting the story, Chowder (along with Farmer, who was over watching _30 Rock_ with Chowder at Holster’s insistence) had looked like he was going to explode from excitement and had hugged Tango for a full minute, and Tango had realized how right Kent had been about getting out of his room. He’d felt so much better, and he knew Chowder and Farmer would never share anything without his permission.

He tapped out a quick reply to Chowder:

> **You:** will do. thx again 4 all the support <3

He was just getting to will call to claim his ticket when he got another text.

> **Kenny:** bout to put my phone away. meet me at the locker room after the game

Tango frowned. He didn’t have access to the locker rooms.

> **You:**???
> 
> **Kenny:** i really gotta go but go get ur tix from will call!!

Tango was still confused, but he did as instructed and approached the will call window. Two minutes later, he was holding a ticket to a seat right behind the Aces bench, an all-access pass, and a handwritten note:

> _I’m trusting you with this, kid. Don’t fuck it up. See you after. -KVP_

He turned it over in his hands, staring at it, as if it might evaporate into thin air at any moment. He snapped a pic of the pass and sent it to his group chat with Chowder and Farmer.

> **You:** [attached image]
> 
> **You:**???
> 
> **Chowder:**!!!
> 
> **Farmer:** yo that boy is treating u right tangs!! lock him down tonight
> 
> **Chowder:** what she _means_ is, it’s great that kent is doing such nice things for you and we support the idea of u getting into a real relationship with him if that’s what you both want  <3
> 
> **Farmer:** chris that’s literally exactly what i just said he doesn’t need a translation
> 
> **Chowder:** look…,,,, i came here to have a good time and i’m honestly just feeling pretty attacked rn...
> 
> **Farmer:** that meme died 2 years ago let it go chris
> 
> **Chowder:** >:(

Tango chuckled and settled into his seat.

It was a good game, overall. The Bruins fought hard, but Kent Parson was truly in his element. He played with a zeal that was beyond even his usual high standard. He didn’t spend a lot of time on the bench, but when he did, he tore his eyes away from the game any chance he got and stole glances behind him at Tango. Tango was pretty sure he was wearing the giddiest smile the whole time, but Kent’s facial expression noticeably went from gruff and laser-focused to a soft, distracted smile whenever he spotted Tango.

There was less than a second left in the third period when the puck slipped past the Bruins’ goalie off Kent Parson’s stick for the third time. The small sector of Aces fans erupted in cheers and a flurry of black baseball caps were tossed on the ice. Kent’s fiery celly led him straight back to the Aces bench, where he locked eyes with an awestruck Tango and made the cheesiest finger guns directly at him. Tango burst out laughing; Kent was so ridiculous, he thought. Ridiculously adorable. And now the game was over, the hat trick having eked out a 4-3 win for the Aces, which meant he was going to the Aces’ locker room to come face-to-face with Kent for the first time since their first meeting in Providence a month and a half ago.

As he flashed his pass to the security guards and trekked into the concrete tunnels leading to the locker rooms he opened the pastry box to check one last time on his homemade palmiers. Baking French pastries with Bitty was a fun experience and it reminded him of home, and when he’d had the idea to bring some for Kent he’d nearly fell down the Haus stairs in his rush to find Bitty. The smell of the palmiers brought back his favorite childhood memories of picnics with his maman in the Jardin des Tuileries and Tango _almost_ got sad again. But then the light glittering off his all-access pass caught his eye, and he looked up and saw the door to the Aces’ locker room, and his brilliant smile crept back in. And then he was pushing open the door, and there was Kent Parson, looking gorgeous and radiant and beaming at him.

 _Maybe this isn’t home,_   _b_ _ut damn if it isn’t exciting._


	6. Sky High

Never in his life had Kent felt so overflowing with happiness. Watching Tango excitedly meet his teammates, with a gleaming happiness that seemed – no, definitely _was_ contagious, he realized how special this boy was. He spent too much of his time surrounded by negativity. He often felt like his motivation came largely from spite, and quite a bit of his past with Jack was fights, arguments, bickering. He did love Jack, but they fueled each other’s fires. Which made him smoke the competition on the ice, but, he realized now, left him feeling burnt out emotionally.

The effect Tango had on him was entirely different. Tango’s thousand-watt smile seemed like it could brighten the dreariest of days. He was the sort of person who improved your mood just by being there. Kent couldn’t help but smile as Swoops signed Tango’s Aces jersey, and Tango beamed like it was the nicest thing anyone had ever done for him.

Although Kent was out to his teammates, he’d introduced Tango as a friend – after all, they hadn’t even technically been on a date yet – but his smile betrayed him. Raker, one of the rookies, nudged him and whispered “he’s a keeper, Parser.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I hope so,” Kent whispered back. Raker headed off to the showers and then Tango was back again, finished with his impromptu Aces meet-and-greet.

“Hey, why don’t you go to the media room and wait there while I get showered up? And change into the nicer clothes you brought?” Kent said.

“So you’re still not gonna tell me where we’re going?” Tango asked.

“I told you, it’s a surprise. You’ll see when we get there.”

“Okayyyy,” Tango drawled reluctantly, but he was still smiling wide. “See you soon, cutie.” And he scurried off happily, probably texting his teammate Chowder and their manager Farmer.

 

* * *

 

 

Once showered and dressed up in decent (though not overly formal) attire, Kent made his way out of TD Garden to the parking deck where his rental car awaited. He called Tango and did his best imitation of a prerecorded airport announcement:

“Paging Tango, party of one, that’s Tango, party of one, please proceed to the pickup curbside. Your ride is now arriving.”

He heard snickers from the other end of the line. “Have you ever thought about a career in voice acting? Just think, you could be famous!” It took Kent a second to realize Tango was joking about the latter part.

“Huh, I wonder what that’s like,” he quipped, playing along. “Seriously, go to the pickup curb, I’m almost there.”

And a minute later he was pulling up to the still crowded curb. It really was just like the arrivals curbside at a busy airport, Kent thought. The Aces always flew privately, of course, but whenever Kent visited his parents in Hastings-On-Hudson he drove himself to McCarran, so he had plenty of experience with this weaving chaos. Tango, bless his heart, was unaware of this fact, and kept his eyes squeezed tightly shut and fingers curled tightly around the overhead handle as Kent darted out into the left lane of the pickup roadway and subsequently merged onto Causeway Street.

“Dude, you look like my grandma holding so tight like that. Relax, I drive in traffic all the time.”

Tango dared open his eyes, finally, and eased up. “So,” he ventured, “ _now_ are you going to tell me where we’re going?”

“No.”

« Putain de bordel de merde ! Que dois-je faire pour que tu me dises ? »

_[“Jesus fucking Christ! What do I have to do for you to tell me?”]_

“All in due time. Right now, just sit back, relax, and enjoy the streets of Boston at night. You know, my grandparents lived in South End when I was growing up, and I would come up here over the summer. Before I went into the Q I knew Boston like the back of my hand.”

“Oh yeah? Well then, how about you be my tour guide, Mis- _tah_ _Pah_ -son?” Tango joked.

“Dude, you already have a Boston accent. You’re just imitating yourself.”

“Well, actually I sort of have a mixed accent, cuz I learned English in France where most people have British accents, but also, like, my dad’s from Cambridge so I picked up his accent and my accent turned out like this weird hybrid of Boston and England but I sort of get closer to a Boston accent when I’m around here…”

Tango kept on talking, and if Kent hadn’t needed to be watching the traffic on Storrow Drive he felt like he could just stare into Tango’s face for hours listening to him talk.

“…so yeah, I guess I kinda have a Boston accent but I’ve actually only been to the city like twice before.”

“Here, look over on the right, it’s the Charles. Isn’t it pretty at night? And the other side is Cambridge. You can sorta see MIT.”

“Oh, I actually thought about going to MIT! For computer science, but I couldn’t abandon hockey and MIT isn’t really known for hockey, so I ended up choosing Samwell and I really don’t regret it at all.”

“Wait, so does that mean you _got in_ to MIT?”

Tango nodded sheepishly. “Yeah, and uh, and Harvard, too… the first time around, at least. I applied to both of those, Columbia, and City College of New York. And I got into all of them _except_ CCNY, how weird is that? Anyways I ended up deciding at the last minute to go into the Q instead, and then when I was applying to schools again 2 years later I thought of Samwell and the rest, as they say, is history.”

Kent didn’t even know how to respond. He simply drove, mouth agape at the revelation that Tango, the secret genius, had been accepted to not one but _two_ Ivies _and_ MIT. The silence was pleasant, though. It was the kind of silence that didn’t feel like it urgently needed to be filled. Kent fondly remembered the last time he was driving Tango around in a fancy rental car. This time, however, his trip wouldn’t end at a frat house with unpleasant memories.

Kent pulled off Storrow Drive onto Beacon Street and then made a right onto Arlington Street, flanking the Public Garden.

“The Public Garden was my favorite place when I was really little,” Kent said. “My grandparents used to read to me a lot back then, and they would always read _Make Way for Ducklings_. This mother mallard hatches her ducklings on the riverbank and then they can’t get back to the pond in the Public Garden, cause like, the newborn ducklings can’t fly yet, so the policemen stop the traffic for them so they can cross the streets. God, I loved it.”

“That’s so cute,” Tango said, craning his neck to see into the Garden over Kent, and not particularly succeeding, given the dark.

“They’ve got a whole statue in the Garden of all the ducklings, too. I try to visit it before the game whenever we play the Bruins. It’s calming.”

Soon they were cruising down Huntington Avenue and into another underground parking deck, and Kent led Tango, who was now reluctantly giving into Kent’s plans without too much fuss, into the Prudential Center.

Pulling him aside in one of the grand arcades, Kent pulled out a blindfold. “You should put this on. Don’t worry, I promise you’re absolutely safe with me,” Kent assured him, and Tango leaned his head into Kent’s shoulder as if to show that he really did feel safe. It made Kent’s heart race; it was exhilarating like no other feeling. Even the moment he got a hat trick in the Aces’ first Stanley Cup final couldn’t quite compare to this.

Tango, now blindfolded and somehow always thinking one step ahead, spoke up. “Aren’t you worried about getting recognized? Or, like, seen on a date? With a guy?”

Kent smiled, and though Tango couldn’t see it, he hoped he could tell how genuine he was with his response: “not really. I don’t think anyone will really notice us, but I’m out to my team, and I, uh… I don’t really mind coming out to the public soon. I mean, after Jack did and all, it’s a lot less scary than it used to be. I _want_ to, really.”

 _And I want to do it with you by my side._ He doesn’t say it, at least not yet.

They kept going down the arcade of the Prudential Center until Kent led them into the elevator.

On the 50th floor the elevator opened and they walked out into the observatory. Out the windows, the city gleamed below, its buildings brilliantly lit against the dark night sky. Kent had been to Boston many times, and seen the Las Vegas strip from a penthouse hotel suite too many times to count. But this was another experience altogether. Vegas was a compact but bustling tourist town with dazzlingly intense lights and fountains on every block. Boston, however, was a hodgepodge of everything, and it extended out for miles all around, into the bay on the east, cut from Cambridge by the river on the west. The hulking, sleek skyscrapers of the State Street financial district stared them down to the north. Just below them along Huntington Avenue, the pool of Christian Science Plaza reflected the bright streetlights. To the west, the stadium lights picked out Fenway Park from among the marshy fens, bearing down intensely on the field where the Red Sox game was still getting through its last innings, the stands still packed with devoted fans. To the northeast, the runway lights of Logan Airport and the departing planes painted small but beautiful flashes of color on the pitch-black canvas of the bay.

The glistening city was truly a sight to behold, but the effervescent glitter of excitement and awe that filled Tango’s blue eyes the moment his blindfold was pulled off – in that moment, Kent thought that was the prettiest light in all of Boston.

 

* * *

 

 

It was simple, really, as dates went, but elegant and exhilarating and beautiful nonetheless. Kent and Tango walked around the observatory for hours. They got an audio guided tour, and walked around all four sides, finding all the landmarks and learning everything they could about each. Kent supplemented with his own knowledge of Boston, and Tango impressed Kent with his thorough knowledge of the MBTA. (Logistics, it seemed, were Tango’s thing – that was why he liked computer science so much, it’s pure logic – and exploring the city was on his Samwell bucket list, so, he’d studied the T map.)

They went up one more floor to the restaurant, which was elegant and classy. It suited Kent’s expensive taste, although Tango insisted he’d have been happy with Chipotle. But Tango was, after all, a college student, so he put up no fight when Kent paid the bill. And just as Kent was about to put his card away, he pulled out an envelope and dropped it on the table. “Go ahead and open it,” he instructed. Tango took it, gingerly sliding a finger under the seal to retrieve the two thin cardstock tickets inside. He frowned as he scanned them, trying to determine their meaning. And then at once he understood, blinking twice in disbelief, eyes going wide. “You mentioned about being homesick, so… I got two roundtrip tickets to Paris Charles-de-Gaulle for this summer,” Kent confirmed, “if you’ll go with me?”

Tears welled in Tango’s eyes – god, his gorgeous eyes – as he fully processed this. And then his arms were around Kent. “I would love to,” he sobbed, and Kent sat there caught up in Tango’s embrace, thinking himself the luckiest man in the world.

 

* * *

 

It was nearly 11pm when, back in the observatory, Tango pulled himself up on one of the ledges of the A/C units, stretched out his long legs across it, leaning his back up on the side of the window frame, and yawned. “I’m so tired, but I don’t want this to end.”

It was a stunning visual. Tango, who was lanky and quite a bit taller than Kent, looked so soft and ethereal, laid out here on the glittery backdrop of the city.

Kent pulled himself up next to Tango, snuggling into him in the little space afforded to them on the ledge. The low lights and quiet, empty observatory lulled him into a calm serenity as the colorful runway lights out at Logan slowly blinked on, and off, and on, and off…

“Me either,” Kent whispered, and pulled Tango into a kiss. Suddenly it was as if each and every one of the city lights had flickered out, leaving just the small, dim bulb above them in the window, a spotlight on their bodies intertwined so tenderly. And when they finally pulled away, at once it seemed that the whole city came back to life in Tango’s eyes.

 _This is going to last_ , Kent thought. _I can feel it._


	7. Epilogue: An American in Paris

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks to @[littlestpersimmon](http://archiveofourown.org/users/madameofmusic>madameofmusic</a>%20for%20beta-ing%20this%20for%20me!%20%0A%0Abell%20@<a%20href=) on tumblr created an awesome drawing of the end of chapter 6 as a commission! check it out at the bottom of the page! it's also on tumblr [here](https://checkthanks.tumblr.com/post/157742016794/oh-man-oh-man-look-at-this-gorgeous-art-of-tango)!

It was the little things that Kent did that affected Tango most. Today, it was the way they stood together, the gentle squeeze Kent gave Tango’s hand as they faced the door of a little ninth-floor flat in Montmartre. Tango’s childhood home from ages 8 to 14, and his favorite. He had missed everything about this place, and it was still just like he remembered, save for a new welcome mat in the hallway and the door having a fresh coat of paint. When Tango’s family had moved to Aix, they’d left this place with his aunt, but she’d since sold the place and moved to Créteil.

“Are you sure you want me to come?” Kent had asked in their hotel room. “I mean, we don’t know who the new tenants are and they could be angry or disapproving or homophobic or…”

Tango had taken both his hands and squeezed tightly. “Kent. I wouldn’t want to do this without you. I wouldn’t be here right now without you. We go together.” And Kent had given him a soft smile and nodded.

So here they found themselves, hand intertwined, being greeted by a smiling woman.

« Bonjou- », she started, but choked on her words as she took in the sight on her doorstep. Tango tensed up, preparing for the worst. Was she going to say something homophobic?

« Pardonnez-moi une moment s’il vous plaît », she muttered quietly and disappeared into the flat. Tango looked at Kent and found that they shared the same confused, slightly apprehensive look. Kent squeezed Tango’s hand just a little tighter. Then they heard the woman’s voice from the next room, in accented English.

“ _Ma chèrie_ , that American hockey player you always watch is at our door with your nephew. _Ouais,_ Parson. No, I am not kidding, I swear it’s him. _Ouais_! I don’t know why they’re here, I didn’t ask. _Alors_ , come on then.”

Kent and Tango shared another look, this time less worried but more quizzical, and then the woman reappeared in the doorway with another woman. The other woman’s face lit up immediately at the sight of Kent. Tango, meanwhile, immediately recognized her. “Aunt Joséphine! Do you live here?”

“Oh my! Hi Tony! Yes, your aunt Lydia sold me this place when she moved to Créteil, didn’t you know? She’s a wonderful sister-in-law. Oh, and this is my wife, Aurélie!”

“It’s so nice to meet you, Tony! I’ve heard lots about you!” Aurélie said, wrapping Tango up in a hug. And then she addressed the elephant in the room: “So what brings you here?”

“And with the NHL’s star player, no less?” Joséphine added.

Kent, now that he was being acknowledged, took the opportunity to formally introduce himself. “Kent. It’s good to meet you, Aurélie,” he said, shaking her hand. “…and you, Joséphine.” Joséphine was clearly a bit starstruck and Tango cracked a smile.

“I missed France and I wanted to come back and see my old home,” Tango explained. “I didn’t know Lydia kept the place in the family, though! I thought I was gonna be taking my chances on a stranger! And Kent is actually my boyfriend.” It was nice how easy it was to say in front of Joséphine and Amélie.

“Oh my, you two are adorable if I do say so myself,” Aurélie said.

“Agreed!” Joséphine said, still awestruck. “Do William and Clarisse know?”

“Dad and Maman know, yeah,” Tango confirmed, smiling. “We FaceTimed them from our old picnic spot in the Jardin des Tuileries and told them. They told me how proud they were of me and I think Maman and Kent clicked right away. She started chirping him for his Québecois accent.”

“Which is the same thing you did the first time you heard me speak French,” Kent pointed out with a chuckle.

Once everyone was thoroughly introduced, and Joséphine had gushed about how big of a fan she was of Kent, Tango took to exploring the flat. He had missed it so much – the way the light washed over the kitchen in the early afternoon, the way his feet sunk into the plushy bedroom carpets, the eclectic mix of little trinkets on the shelves. What he missed most of all, though, was the tiny little balcony looking out to the south. On a beautiful day like this one, he could see all the big landmarks in the center of the city – la Tour Eiffel, l’Arc de Triomphe, and even a glimpse of the afternoon sunlight glinting off the water of the Seine. It was a picturesque scene and despite having lived here for seven years of his life, the beauty of it never wore off.  Tango was staring off into the distance when Kent stepped out to join him.

“I was going to say that cheesy line about how you think the view is pretty but I think you’re prettier,” Kent said, “but I think I already used it on you on this trip.”

And that sent Tango into a five-minute laughing fit. When he finally could breathe normally again, he put a hand on Kent’s shoulder. “I hope you know I love you,” he said earnestly, and Kent smiled wide.

“Well that’s good,” he quipped, “because I love you too.”

* * *

_Ten minutes later_

It was 11AM in Massachusetts, and the Haus occupants who were taking summer classes were having a lazy Sunday. Chowder and Farmer were napping together on the biohazard couch when Whiskey’s shout woke them up. “Oh my GOD, you two, look at this!”

They peered over the couch at Whiskey’s phone. They shared a smile and laid back down to nap while Whiskey freaked out and ran to the lax house to talk to the Chads.

It was an Instagram post, just now uploaded, of Kent and Tango kissing with the Paris skyline behind them.

_@kentparson: I think I fell in love with your home, which is only appropriate since I’ve fallen in love with you._

 

* * *

Here's that incredible art courtesy of the talented and incredible Bell! Find them on tumblr @littlestpersimmon, I highly recommend commissioning them! This is Tango and Kent at the end of chapter 6, on their first date at the Boston observatory :) 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> incredibly grateful to everyone who has read and enjoyed this story. i love and welcome comments of all kinds. feel free to connect with me on my tumblr, @[kentparson](http://kentparson.tumblr.com). 
> 
> à bientôt,   
> -AJ


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